I have always written for the joy of the process. I love my characters and settings so no one else needs to. I never consciously set goals for myself. Even sending out stories and waiting for the rejection was no real goal.When I began writing seriously I wanted to have a couple of stories published. I attended local writers groups where women, rightly so, considered themselves to be authors because they had one poem or story published and had done nothing since. Some were still writing but others rested on their laurels. I was delighted that they were satisfied with that achievement, but I wanted more. The first thing I wrote was a novel. Being my first try, it had serious maybe even fatal flaws, but I loved it. I gave a halfhearted attempt to sell it, but no one bit. It took me a couple of years to realize the problems couldn’t be fixed and that the first few novels were for practice anyway. I knew one story or poem wouldn’t do it for me. But novels didn’t seem to be it either. I started cranking out short stories. Now I find myself on the other side of the issue. Many of my new friends have three book contracts with noted publishers of cozy mysteries. Again, I am pleased for them. I remember the excitement they shared when that contract came through but I also remember how hard they had to work to meet deadlines, struggle with characters suggested by the publisher, and meet other demands (the ubiquitous cozy cat). I read the books with joy. I don’t mind writing to a deadline but I don’t want to have to write to contract. I want to work with those guys I mentioned above, the ones I love so much. What I actually want is to do is write what I love, and go on doing it forever. But yes, I find I do set goals for myself, though often I am surprised that I have. Right now I want to get my short story collection published and get a story or two published in the better known markets. The other side of any goal is motivation. You can’t achieve any goal unless you are motivated to do so. I am motivated to write, no question there. I am not so motivated to submit, and I am not at all motivated to sell my work once it is out there. I have to work hard at telling people I have a wonderful piece that they might enjoy. But that is the work no one does for you. So far most of my work has been in anthologies so I have had to do my fair share of publicity, but not the whole load. If (when) my collection is published, I am going to have to push it hard. We are all real writers, the people who are satisfied with a single publication, those who feel they have made it with a three book contract, and those of us who write for the sheer joy of it, and don’t care how far it carries them. Goals may be important but writers are defined not by the goals they set but how they see themselves.I’d love to hear from other writers about their goals and motivations.If you aren’t a writer, I’d like to hear what you think of all this.

It was dark when she awoke. It always was, even at the summer solstice. There was no hurry. She could lie her as long as she wanted. She couldn’t read the numbers on the clock unless she put on her glasses.

Why did she wake so early if she was so tired? Another hour of sleep wouldn't hurt anything.

She knew sleep was impossible so she began the morning litany. Today is Monday. Today I have to walk the dog, feed the sheep, go to work. Tonight is monthly writers' group.

Was today going to be the kind of day that filled her cup or the kind that left her drained? The only way to answer that question was to get up and get moving. She would find out how she felt, not by lying in bed, but by getting up and walking the dog. Once she got moving, she would be able to judge her well-being.

Though she hadn't moved, the dog knew she was awake. It stood, turned once around and settled down again snuggled into the small of her back. Clearly the dog was in no hurry to get up. Often enough the dog would be urging her out of bed, eager for her walk and breakfast.

It could be any time between 3 and 5 AM. She felt for her glasses on the night table. 4:28. Not bad.

She began to pick apart the knottier bits of her day. What should she wear to work? Monday she was the receptionist but today she had to teach. She could wear museum uniform in the morning, switch to period clothing for the teaching. Should she take a third set of cloths for the evening meeting? Should she admit, even to herself, that she wanted to wear her period clothing to the group? Would that make her a show off?

Perhaps if she walked the dog for longer than half an hour she would feel more energized. Had she made coffee before she went to bed? Would she have time to write before she left to feed the sheep? Should she pick up lunch on the way to work or should she find something in the cupboard?

She couldn't tell what the weather was. She thought it might be overcast, but then again that might be a star visible through the upper windowpane.

Well best get on with it.

She sat up and swung her feet over the edge of the bed.

Preparation and Beginning are the first two moves in the Tai Chi form.

I am not sure if this is a short story, journal entry, or a blog.

I will tell you that after a longish walk with the dog, I felt like I could conquer the day.

I have been reading Moby Dick for over fifty years. It was on my self-imposed summer reading list between my sophomore and junior years in High School. I didn't finish it that summer because when I got to page 30 or so I was laughing so hard my mother thought there was something wrong with me. "That isn't a funny book. Why are you laughing so hard?"Most of the people I have talked to about the book agree with my mother.So I put it down, thinking that I would pick it up again when my mother wasn’t around to comment. In college I dated (and later married) an English major who gobbled up the works of Melville, Hawthorn and Blake. I got to type the papers he wrote on them. The papers were fascinating, laying bare the bones of the dry works of long dead authors. My second attempt at reading Moby Dick was a failure, even with his help. It is a long dense book filled with 19th century wordiness. I am not sure how far I got on any of my attempts to finish it but I am not there yet. I know the story from movies, literary discussions, and reading Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, in which Verne takes issue with the mass slaughter of whales portrayed in Moby Dick. I can't say my present attempt with be any more successful than the previous ones. I am on page 85 of a 452 page book.This is what I have learned so far, probably the same things I learned before and forgot:It is, indeed, a very funny book. Ishmael is glib, and comes at everything from an odd angle. When offered "fish or clam" for dinner he forgot they were sent to that particular inn for the excellent chowder, and wonder how they can make a meal out of a single clam. Queequig becomes Quohog in the ships record book. OK, not hilarious, but I have been laughing out loud. Ishmael is not the everyman of his time. Remember the book was written in the early 1850s, when half the country owns slaves. It takes him one night to become best buds with someone utterly different from himself. He believes in religious diversity and racial equality. How many everymen go whaling just for the fun of it? The book is a wonderful picture of a by-gone age, with men (sorry, I have encountered only one woman so far, and I think she will be the only one) living at the edges of the safe world.The most astonishing thing I discovered about the book, and I know I didn't think of this on the last go round, is that the chapter length rivals James Patterson. One chapter is three paragraphs long. Most are two pages. I thought the very short chapter was a modern invention to keep the reader, with a short attention span from too much Sesame street and texting, turning pages.My last conclusion, which should perhaps be my first, is that everyone should read Moby Dick. Notice, I don't say you have to finish it.

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The best advice anyone gave me about writing historicals was that you need to experience what you are writing about. The result has been not only more believable settings but a wonderful job teaching history to kids at living history museums.